


By Beginning and End

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Duty, F/M, Friendship, Platonic Romance, Post-Nuclear War, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are just inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Beginning and End

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by E.

"You know, I read this thing a long time ago," Hermione said one night while aimlessly twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

"What was it?" Draco didn't particularly care, but he decided to humor her tonight. Just this once.

"Quantum physics," she said grandly. "Parallel universes. You know."

"Oh. Right." There was a Muggle term for this, he remembered. "Sci—fence?"

"Close," she said, laughing. "Science."

"Right." It had been years since he'd actively hated her, but it was strange, being so … polite. She was still a know-it-all Muggle-born, but apocalypses had a way of making those things seem less important. "So, what are they?"

"Well, I'm not _sure_ what quantum physics are," Hermione said.

Draco laughed. "Astounding. So you don't know everything after all."

"I know a lot. More than you."

Draco's only response was to nod in acknowledgement. It was true, after all. She knew much more than he did; without her, he probably would not have survived. "So what are parallel universes, then? Or do you know?"

"Yes, I do," Hermione said. "Parallel universes are universes …."

"Really."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione said. "Anyway. They're alternate universes, basically. Like if Voldemort had won. Or if you, say, picked raspberry jam instead of strawberry for your toast today—"

"We haven't got any jam." They hadn't had jam for years. Neither of them knew how to make it, and of course there was no one around to make it for them.

"Oh, _Draco._ " And then she'd gotten up to water their plants. There were precious few of them—most of their food was gotten from scavenging around. But it made Draco feel good to see them, anyway, lined up in a neat row against the remains of a fence.

Draco thought of her now, gazing at those plants. Their stems were bent, but still green and healthy, and the leaves faced the stormy, gray sky. There would be rain coming soon, and Draco was glad. It would wash away some of the radiation, and perhaps make the plants blossom and grow to fruition.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, laying a hand on Draco's shoulder.

Draco shrugged. "Nothing in particular." A shaft of light broke through the dark clouds and shone upon her. Draco had to look away.

Before the war had happened, and the atom bomb—in what he thought was a previous life—Draco had never wondered about human reproduction. He knew that wizards and witches typically conceived through potions. He knew there was another way, a more barbaric one, that Muggles used, but he had never been curious as to what it was. Hermione had discovered this fact one nuclear winter night; she'd mocked him about it mercilessly, before proceeding to inform him. He'd been angry over her teasing for a few days—he might have even called her a Mudblood once or twice—before realizing that he'd been cruel, and apologizing to her shamefacedly.

"What are you thinking?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing."

It would be the responsible thing to do. There were very few humans left, and even fewer of their kind. And Draco wouldn't have to … bear them, or birth them, or nurse. Hermione would, and Draco knew what kind of person she was. She would do it gladly, out of obligation, if nothing else. She was kind, and pretty enough, and all in all, Draco could do a lot worse.

Draco gently wound his arm around Hermione's shoulders. He didn't know why he was so afraid. Hermione would surely understand.

"What is it?"

Draco swallowed, and looked away. "You know what you told me a while ago? About how animals breed?"

"Yes …. Oh," Hermione said.

"It's our duty, really," said Draco. That was what his father had said to him when he had gotten Draco engaged to Pansy Parkinson when he was nine years old. His duty. To marry, and breed, and pass on the Pureblood line.

Draco wondered what his father would think of him now.

"Of course," Hermione said, and nodded. "Have you ever—"

"No," said Draco. "So." He thought they should perhaps get on with it quickly, before Draco lost his nerve. Why _was_ he so nervous? He shouldn't be—Hermione was his friend—and yet there was an odd feeling in his stomach, and Draco felt distinctly unwell.

"We can just …," Hermione said.

"All right."

They held hands and walked back into their home, ignoring the rain and hail from the thunderclouds.


End file.
